


cigarettes and small talk (baby you can have my soul)

by oh_my_stars_and_sky



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Boys In Love, Damien is Going Through Some Stuff, Falling In Love, Fight Ending, Fluff and Smut, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Shy Oz, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27864322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_my_stars_and_sky/pseuds/oh_my_stars_and_sky
Summary: Oz is determined for this year to be different: he wants friends, and he's determined to get them. When a series of chance encounters with Damien leave him wanting even more, he can't believe his luck. But Damien is a complicated guy, and things that are good are rarely easy.
Relationships: Damien LaVey/Yellow | Oz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 174





	cigarettes and small talk (baby you can have my soul)

**Author's Note:**

> y'all i have literally been in this fandom for 24 hours and i cannot get enough. the game is so fucking fun. the characters are delightful. a very good friend of mine put me on to this ship (and the game) and i wrote this as a sort of present for her <3
> 
> the second half of the title is from a molly nilsson song called "i hope you die" which i think really suits this pairing.
> 
> there is a very brief, very slight implied reference to self-harm about halfway through, just as a warning.
> 
> other than that, i hope you guys are all staying safe and i hope you guys enjoy!

“I-I can do this.”

Even the mirror didn’t seem convinced. It was the first time Oz had ever cut class, and he felt morbidly out of place, standing in the dingey bathroom, taking steadying breaths. This year was gonna be different. He wasn’t gonna just let himself fade into the background like always. He was gonna stand out, and- and be somebody. 

Doubtful. 

Before he could brood on the subject any further, the door clanged open, revealing Scott and Damien, locked in a bitter argument. Damien had an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

“You think your Pokemans can beat mine? HA! I’d like to see you try,”

“Damien, you treat your Pokemans like shit. Mine are happy, healthy, and more than ready to pummel yours into the ground,” countered Scott.

It was pretty heated, and not in a way Oz was sure he was prepared for. On the other hand, Scott was the captain of the football team, and Damien was a ridiculously attractive bad boy he sensed was full of hidden depth also very popular. This was an opportunity, and he was done letting those pass him by.

“I-uh. I also have them! Pokemans, I mean,” _Shit shit shit not such a smooth start. It’s okay, you haven’t lost yet, just recover._ “I’ve-uh-I’ve got some pretty cool ones actually.”

Scott cocked his head to one side with a vaguely intrigued expression on his face. Damien, for his part, had narrowed his eyes a little, and was looking at him like he hadn’t realized he was capable of speech.

_Here we go, don’t fuck this up._

“Yea, uh, look,” He fumbled a little, pulling his phone out and clicking to the app. “Scabs Rentacar. He’s a Criminal type. Murderer.”

Scott looked a little uneasy, but Damien’s eyes widened and a dangerous sort of smirk played his mouth.

“That,” he said, “is fuckin’ metal. Gotta get me one of those.” 

Oz swallowed hard. The bathroom, an awful, murky green, claustrophobic little place that smelled vaguely of weed and rotting flesh, was suddenly the nicest, most beautiful place he’d ever been, looking into those menacing amber eyes. Damien seemed to radiate heat, a soft sort of warmth that Oz had never noticed before. Then again, he’d never been in this sort of confined space with him. In fact, Oz thought, his mind racing at a dizzying pace, in fact, he didn’t think he’d ever been this close to him at all.

It was nice.

“You can have mine,” he sputtered, trying for aloof and landing closer to flustered.

“Really?” Damien half-shouted, eyes glowing even brighter with excitement and mischief and surprise.

“S-sure thing,” he replied, shrugging, clicking a couple buttons and transferring the Pokeman to Damien.

The bell rang. Scott startled, standing up pin-straight. He checked his watch, and with a particularly dog-like yelp, he made for the door.

“I’ll catch you later, Damien, I’ve got a meeting with the coach!”

The door slammed shut behind him, clanging loudly in the empty air.

Damien looked down at his phone, where Scabs Rentacar was now doing a jaunty little dance with a knife. He smiled a smile that was nothing but joy for a second. Oz swore he saw his face fall just a little, saw the light in his eyes dim for just a second before he shook himself and put his phone away.

“Thanks man,” he said, uncharacteristically quietly. “That was nice of you.”

He turned and walked away, leaving Oz standing there, taking deep, shaking breaths, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

Maybe this year was gonna be different, after all.

_*666*_

It was a week before he saw Damien again. Or maybe it was a month. Time was fucking weird in high school. It passed in giant blocks, or not at all. Some nights went on for centuries. Some weeks didn’t exist. 

At any rate, he was early for class. 

Class was a haphazard activity at Spooky High; as long as the janitor didn’t catch you committing a felony, you were pretty much allowed to do whatever you want. The only person who really went to class with any consistency was Liam, and even he mostly did it more out of a need to feel superior than anything else. 

This particular morning, however, he was not the only person who happened into the teaching section of the school building. Liam was idling in the front-row, middle seat, as usual, but both Vera and Damien had also barreled through the door. 

This could mean only one thing: a fight.

Damien and Vera had both separately laid claim to the desk in the back left corner of the room months ago. It was the ideal spot: as far away from the teacher as possible, to allow for maximum mischief and rule-breaking, and was closest to the window, to allow for easy escapes.

On the rare morning when they both remembered to show up for class, it got ugly fast, generally resulting in mayhem and ultimately at least one arrest. 

This particular morning, they started before they were even fully in the room.

“Listen here snakes-for-brains,” Damien snarled, shoving Vera into the doorframe in an attempt to get to the desk first, “That spot is reserved for the coolest person in class. In any class I’m in, that’s me.”

“You wish,” said Vera coldly, hooking her ankle around his shin, making him trip up and giving her the lead. “We all know I’m more popular than you. And richer. Isn’t that what matters, really? Don’t sweat it, I bet you could sit up front, with _Liam_.”

Damien growled in a way that betrayed his identity as the Prince of Hell. Oz shivered.

“You think you’re more popular than me?” he spat through gritted teeth, “Are you kidding? Have you even seen my instagram?”

Vera actually stopped to whirl around and laugh in his face. “ _Instagram_? You want to use Instagram to settle this? I could get more likes on a blurry selfie than you could on a full frontal nude.”

“Ha! You’ve obviously never seen my nudes,” he countered, cocky as hell.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Vera replied smugly, her apathetic tone tinged with dark conspiracy. “They’re all over the internet. I’m pretty sure _everyone’s_ seen your nudes, Damien. ”

Oz had, in fact, not seen Damien’s nudes, but the sheer thought of them was making his jet black cheeks glow purple. This was a conversation that needed to be over.

“I wonder how that could have happened,” said Vera, putting on a deliberately innocent affectation. Damien laughed.

“So my nudes are famous. That only proves my point. People don’t wanna see you, they would rather look at my throbbing, red-”

“I’m gonna sit there today, actually!” Oz didn’t realize he had spoken until the words had tumbled out of his mouth. He fought the urge to look behind him, to shrug his shoulders and say “Who said that, not me!” No, he was done doing that. He needed that conversation to end, so he ended it. Now he just had to stick the landing. _Fuck, uh, okay, just walk over and sit down._

So he did; he crossed the room in three long strides, plopped his books on the desk, and sat down, propping his lanky legs up and trying his best to look confident.

“Damn,” said Damien, who looked, for once in his life, shocked.

“The desk doesn’t lie,” said Vera, “Guess we’ve been dethroned.”

“We should hang out sometime, Oz.” Damien said, in a tone that was carefully flippant.

“He doesn’t wanna hang out with you, Damien,” said Vera, her apathetic tone returning, “he’s too cool for us.”

“Y-yea, that sounds nice, Damien, we should hang out sometime,” Oz replied, ignoring Vera.

“Sometime,” Damien echoed.

* _666_ *

The next time he saw Damien, it was late at night and very dark out. There was a party going down at the old dead tree on the outskirts of the school grounds; booze and drugs and an almost ridiculous amount of strobe lights. Polly was showering the crowd in cocaine, Vera was puking in the bushes, Scott was howling up at the moon, and it was a pretty good night all things considered. Oz wondered why he hadn’t started doing this sooner.

It was close to midnight when he saw Damien lugging a suspiciously large burlap sack out of the nearby woods. He looked around nervously, hefting the bag over his shoulder when he noticed Oz, and turning, walked towards him. As he got closer, Oz could read the phrase “DEFINITELY NOT A CORPSE” scrawled in blood-red on the side of the increasingly ominous bag.

“Hey,” he said, and it hung in the air between the two of them for a moment, louder even than the clamor of the ongoing party. Oz looked up at him, trying to arrange his face into an expression that wouldn’t betray his desire to roll up onto his toes and kiss him softly on the mouth. Oz always forgot how much taller than him Damien was. Oz himself was relatively lanky and certainly not short, but that was nothing compared to Damien, fit and built and at least 6’7”, towering over him, emitting that same lovely warmth Oz had felt during their Pokeman encounter. 

“Hey,” he said back, feeling dumb.

“Um, you’re not gonna believe this, but there’s definitely actually a corpse in this bag. I don’t feel like going back to jail, so I’m gonna need you to help me hide this body real quick. It would be an extremely...attractive thing to do.” He smiled his signature, menacing grin. Oz thought he might faint.

Did Damien just...imply he was attracted to him? _Quick, respond, you moron._

“For sure. W-why don’t we just throw it in my garage? I’ve got plenty of-of dead bodies in there, no one’s gonna notice one more.”

Damien’s face split into a somehow even wider grin.

“Fucking metal, man!”

_How is this happening to me,_ thought Oz distantly, _how the fuck is this happening to me._

They got to his house at quarter past one. 

His mom was definitely already asleep, which he was grateful for. She was, arguably, more excited than he was that he was trying to make friends, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for her to meet Damien just yet.

He flicked the light switch on.

Before them was illuminated a large pile of corpses. He hadn’t killed any of them; no, his particular proclivity was grave-robbing, but that probably wasn’t dangerous or bloody enough for Damien, so there was no reason to bring it up.

“Holy shit,” Damien whistled, “These are some quality fuckin’ corpses, man. Who knew you were so rad?”

Oz cracked a smile. “Well, no one. Til recently.”

“You said it.” Damien looked at him strangely, with a glint in his eye that was equally hungry and menacing. Silence fell between them again, and tension with it.

“Y-you can put it anywhere you want,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the bag in Damien’s arms.

“Oh yeah?” said Damien, softly, almost cruelly, almost vulgar.

“Yea,” said Oz, almost choking, like the air had been sucked out of the room, “Yea.”

Damien dropped the bag, and stalked over to him, predatory, heat pounding, the room shrinking, until he was barely three inches away from him, until they were practically touching, Oz looking up at Damien like he was Gd himself, Damien looking down at Oz like he knew.

Silence, again, except for Oz’s gasping breath.

“Wanna smoke?” he asked quietly, his voice coarse. Oz nodded. 

He grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the garage, and practically throwing him up onto the roof before following, leveraging himself against the rain gutter and pulling himself up too.

Oz thought he looked magnificent.

They sat quietly, very close together, as Damien fumbled in his pocket for his cigarette case. Pulling one out, he slid it slowly into Oz’s mouth, looking him in the eyes all the while. Oz willed himself not to hyperventilate, willed himself to keep his eyes open, feeling his cheeks glow purple.

Damien snapped his fingers into a finger gun, and, with a whispered ‘ _bang’,_ a little flame appeared at the end of his index finger. 

Reaching up, cradling Oz’s face with his other hand, he lit the cigarette.

He must have seen in Oz’s eyes that he’d never done this before because, shaking out his hand til the flame went out, he leaned forward, talking low, right into his ear, in a quiet, rough voice, “You’re okay. Just take a deep breath in, hold it in the back of your mouth. Can you do that for me? Good boy.”

He leaned back, looking at Oz with an unreadable expression. “Good,” he repeated, pulling the cigarette slowly out of Oz’s mouth, “Now exhale.”

Oz breathed out, feeling the heaviness of the smoke leaving his mouth, barely avoiding a cough, looking up at Damien.

“Very good,” said Damien, “Very good,” and then he tucked the cigarette between his own lips, taking a long drag, and that damn near did Oz in, seeing that little flame that had just been in his mouth sitting between Damien’s lips.

Damien seemed to notice, giving him a little smile before looking up at the sky.

* _666_ *

Oz didn’t see him for a couple days, and then he found him with a knife, sitting on the dirty bathroom floor. The thing is, it wasn’t terribly uncommon to find Damien with a knife. He liked them, liked stabbing people (and places and things) with them, liked tricking people into eating them; point being, it was relatively common-place to see him with one in hand.

What was less common-place was that Damien appeared to be contemplating using the knife on himself, tracing veins up his red forearm, not pressing down.

“Hey, you,” he said, voice unsteady. “What-uh, whatcha up to there?” 

Damien looked up, startled, like he hadn’t heard the door just open and shut with a loud clang.

“Oh. Hey, Oz,” he said, trying to school his face into his signature wide grin but failing to weed the sadness and weariness out of his eyes, “Just, ah, considering a. Body modification. That’s all. Y’know, like, like how I cut my, my horn off?”

“Hmm. Well,” said Oz, sternly telling himself not to panic, “I can think of s-some other body modifications that might be a little less. Might be a little more fun.”

“Oh yeah?” challenged Damien, quirking an eyebrow, “Name one.”

_Fuck, shit, gotta come up with something._

“Gun hands?” he said weakly. “Y’know, guns. But for hands.” Damien’s face lit up.

“That’s a fucking metal idea, man!”

And with that, the bell rang, and before he could say anything more, Damien was gone. 

It was a couple hours later that Vera shoved him up against a locker. He didn’t have enough money to pay her new hallway tax, and she felt this meant he needed to die (he didn’t know how to tell her he wasn’t sure if he was even mortal). Just as he was sure it was gonna be the end for him, something large and red tackled Vera, freeing him and throwing her to the ground. 

After a moment to catch his bearings, Oz found Damien right beside him. He took his hand and smiled, helping him catch his balance as Vera clambored herself back onto her feet before making as dignified an exit as she could. Looking down, Oz was a little surprised but certainly not disappointed to see Damien had the same ol’ big red hands as he had the last time he’d seen him.

“No gun hands?” he said, having caught his breath.

“Nah,” Damien replied offhandedly, “They wouldn’t let me. Somethin’ about too many felonies. Guess it's just you and me...and our regular, non-gun hands…against the world.”

Oz wasn’t sure he could die, but he came damn near close in that moment.

* _666_ *

He was back in the bathroom, alone this time, contemplating his reflection in the mirror. The past few months were like nothing he’d ever known; the electric excitement, the camaraderie, the joy, the heat of desire, the pounding, all-encompassing rush at the thought that it might be reciprocated. 

He was thinking of Damien. Stupid, sexy Damien, the thought of whom took up much of his time, Damien, whose amber eyes were gleeful and dangerous at the same time, Damien, who had laid his hand on his cheek while lighting his first cigarette (he smoked them sometimes, now, when he was particularly horny or lonesome or pining, when he needed to think of Damien in a way that surpassed thought, in a bodily, physical way, with all but flesh and blood), Damien, who he wanted, who, he was almost sure, wanted him back.

Prom was approaching. There was only one person he wanted to go with, but the thought of asking left him terrified. For each tender moment he shared with Damien, there were another two or three wherein the other boy brooded silently, slipping away before he had a chance to call out to him, hiding. Something was wrong, but what Oz could only guess. Damien didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

Think of the Devil, who should throw the door open but the Devil himself. There was Damien, in all his blood-red glory. He was panting, and his eyes were wild, his mouth screwed up in a scowl.

Oz froze.

"YOU!!!! You're standing in my way!!!!!! Move, before I punch you so hard you'll remember with melancholy the times when you could move without all of your bones hurting!!!" 

Damien seemed serious, and seriously angry.

_Quick, say something._

"Jokes on you, pal: I’m a pragmatist. I avoid any kind of idealization of the past because it has no use, and therefore I refuse feeling any kind of melancholy." 

_What the fuck was that??,_ Oz thought, _I sound like I swallowed a thesaurus._

Someone thought his retort was witty and clever. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Damien. Instead, it was the crowd of students that had begun forming behind Damien, who pushed past him into the bathroom, and hefted Oz on to their shoulders, cheering.

Oz short-circuited. _What the fuck is happening?_

“I’m gonna fight you,” snarled Damien over the sound of the crowd, “At prom! It’ll-it’ll be an even bigger spectacle than this! They’ll all be cheering for ME. You’re gonna be begging when I’m done with you.”

Damien stormed away, and Oz was left alone in a crowd, more confused and conflicted than before. 

* _666_ *

For nearly a month, every time Oz got anywhere near Damien, all he got was a glare before he stormed away. 

It felt awfully cold. Everyone talked to him now. He was somebody, just like he wanted, it seemed, to everyone but the one person he wanted most to be somebody to. 

Slowly, all the talk turned to prom; who was going with who, who was partying where before, who was partying where after, when was the booze getting there, should there be LSD (Polly felt this was indisputably a yes). 

Anytime anyone tried to broach the subject with him, he would simply shrug and walk away, to the point where Miranda asked if he needed her to “have her serfs pull some strings” to get him a date (“not that I think you can’t do it on your own, sweetie, it’s just, you seem a little...unsure”).

He shook his head.

There was only one person he wanted to go with, and that person was not speaking to him, and he didn’t know why.

He went through the motions of the days as best as he could; library, cafeteria, gym. Party every night, cut class in the bathroom, do increasingly ridiculous amounts of drugs with Polly to the point where even she was concerned (“woah, that is a LOT of cocaine...you sure you’re up for it? I’m not gonna judge you, hon, it’s just a LOT...and didn’t you just take molly?”).

He told himself he was being reckless for the fun of it, and not because he was desperate for the attention of one particularly brooding hellspawn.

It got him nowhere, anyway, and it felt kinda shitty. He started going back to class sometimes, taking some nights off, dreaming of red and heat.

When he couldn’t sleep he sat on the roof of his garage, smoking cigarette after cigarette, looking up at the moon and the stars. 

A few days before prom, he found Damien dejectedly punching some kid in the bathroom. His fists were in the fight but his heart just wasn’t.

“Are you okay, man?” The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them. Damien dropped the kid, who scrambled for the door immediately, shouting his thanks behind him as he fled.

Damien didn’t look at him, not at first.

“No,” he said finally. 

“Oh,” Oz said, feeling stupid and woefully inadequet, “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“What’s wrong?” 

“It’s this whole Prince of Hell thing. I hate being the Prince of Hell, and I’m gonna hate being the King of Hell even more.”

He took a breath, and there was a moment of heavy silence before he continued.

“It’s supposed to be my whole deal, y’know? Like, that’s my purpose. Only I don’t feel like it is. Mostly I feel like I don’t have a purpose at all, mostly I feel empty and alone and useless. And it doesn’t fucking help that the one thing I was made to do is the thing I dread doing the most. My dads are great, but they’re really overbearing, and they’ve made it clear they only want one thing for me, and that’s to be their successor. And-and I don’t even bother telling them about my life anymore, or bringing anyone home, because, I don’t know, I guess it keeps things separate, it lets me have this whole fun little life here where I don’t have to think about what my real life is gonna be like. But lately, it’s been harder to do that, because there are things- people- that I don’t- don’t want to leave behind.”

More silence. Oz took a tentative step towards him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Damien shuddered at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

“I mean, what can I even do as king? I’ll have to be, I don’t know, all stuffy and in charge.”

_Kings have harems,_ Oz thought, _I’d be in your harem in a heartbeat, I’d be satisfied with anything you’d give me._

But he’s not sure he can say that, so instead he said, “What about war? As king you could do like, total war.”

“Ha. War,” repeated Damien, laughing mirthlessly. “You’re right. Listen, I know I’m supposed to beat the shit out of you at prom, but the truth is- the truth is you’re the one person who really makes me feel less alone, like I’m worth something. And that scares me, Oz.”

He shakes himself, pushing Oz’s hand off his shoulder before pushing past him to the door. “I’ll see you at the fight, man.”

“Damien,” said Oz, voice cracking, but he was gone.

* _666_ *

Prom night. Dancing, booze, pretty dresses, well-tailored suits, the whole nine.

Oz stood out in front of the swanky hotel the school had rented out for it’s students to trash, taking a steading breath. Despite Damien’s threats of a fight, Oz had still worn his nicest suit, with a golden-yellow tie and little flower cufflinks. He combed his hair down flat, and wore his nicest shoes.

Even if he was in for a beatdown, it was still prom night, and he’d still be with Damien. He wanted to look his best.

Giving himself a little shake, he pushed the door open, weaving through the throngs of his partying peers to the back staircase that would lead to the room Damien wanted to meet him in. Descending, he felt his pulse begin to race. 

Eventually, he stood before the door to the basement lounge. Nudging it open, he saw Damien standing in the center of the room, and smoke curling from the cigarette perched between his lips. He was wearing a white button down with the sleeves pushed up and a neat pair of black slacks. His suit jacket (black with red trim) was already tossed on a sofa in the corner of the room. Several other students were lingering in the corners of the room, ostensibly to witness the ensuing fight. 

“Hey,” said Oz, summoning as much confidence as he could.

“Hey, yourself,” retorted Damien, dropping the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with his shoe. “Get over here.”

“S-since you asked so nicely,” snarked Oz, playing the game right back, crossing the room in several long strides until they were standing less than a foot apart.

Damien smiled at him, and then decked him. Not to be outdone, Oz elbowed him in the stomach, giving him the momentary advantage he needed to dodge the next uppercut thrown his way.

He couldn’t tell how long it went on for; it was bloody and wrong and wicked but he didn’t care, bobbing and weaving and getting in the odd hit or slap or bite. Distantly he knew the crowd was growing and cheering and clamoring for more, but he couldn’t really hear them. He felt the wetness of blood on his shirt but he didn’t know who’s it was. Somewhere along the way Damien’s shirt got torn, but Oz didn’t even really notice. Everything, everything was falling away. For all he was concerned, it was only him and Damien, dancing around each other at prom.

He ducked under another punch and he heard himself burst out laughing. Damien started laughing too, howling manically, stopping for a moment just to pant and look at him.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Oz just shook his head, gesturing to them, to the space between them, to his bloodied shirt, and kept laughing.

Damien caught him by the tie, pulling him close, as close as they’d been in Oz’s garage. 

After a moment of silence, he closed his eyes, and gently, _gently_ pressed his mouth against Oz’s. Oz, lightheaded, ecstatic, grappled with Damien’s back, hands desperate for purchase, desperate to bring them closer, for more, more, more.

This kiss was chaste, at first, really, just two mouths pressed together. It lit a fire in his belly, made him warm in a way that made him think he must have spent every second of his life before this frozen. 

He moaned, deepening the kiss, running his tongue shyly along Damien’s cracked bottom lip.

“Fuck,” hummed Damien, letting go of his tie and snaking his hands under his suit jacket, running them up and down his back, “fuck.”

“I-if you insist,” replied Oz, dazed, voice muffled by the fact that he couldn’t seem to stop kissing him.

Damien moaned, breaking the kiss for a moment. “You can’t say things like that if you don’t mean it,” he said darkly, sliding his hands down to cup Oz’s ass. 

“Who says,” said Oz deliberately, catching Damien’s gaze, seeing the dark desire, the adoration, the _need_ , ”who says I d-don’t mean it?”

With that, Damien pulls him into a bruising kiss. While the first one was tender, months of unspoken affirmations and confessions, this one was powerful, intense, months of silent desire. By now, nearly everyone had taken leave of the room; it seemed even Spooky High students had boundaries, and apparently voyeurism crossed one of them.

Oz wouldn’t’ve cared if they’d stayed. Nothing in the world could distract him from the way Damien was pressing him close, the way he could feel the heat of Damien’s body seeping into his own.

“A room,” Damien rasped when they finally broke apart for air, “I-I booked a room upstairs. If you want.”

“I want,” said Oz, “Gd, you have no idea how I want.”

* _666_ *

It started like this:

The door slammed closed behind them, and Damien immediately pressed him against it, frantic hands undoing buttons, exposing skin. Damien’s mouth was at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder, and he could hear himself making sounds he didn’t know he could make.

Feeling bold, he wrapped his legs around Damien, situating them so they were pressed firmly against one another. Seamlessly, Damien hefted him up against the wall, cupping his ass and keeping him in place.

_I have to be dreaming, there’s no way I’m not dreaming_

“You’re not dreaming,” said Damien, letting go of his neck with one final bite, voice hoarse and face flushed. “Believe me, I had the same thought.”

With that, cradling Oz with a tenderness and compassion, he turned and carried him to the bed. Oz could not tell you what color the sheets were, or if the shades were drawn, or the pattern of the wallpaper, but he could tell you he’d never heard Damien’s breath hitch like that before, that his eyes were shining brighter than he’d ever seen them, that every little touch felt like _I love you,_ felt like _you’re not crazy,_ felt like _i feel this too and it’s real and now that i know that i’m never letting you go_.

Damien let him fall down onto the bed; Oz felt it bounce, reverberating. For a moment, Damien just looked at him, smiling softly, serenely. He reached a tender hand down and stroked Oz’s cheek, just the same way he had that night on the roof with the cigarette. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said gruffly.

“Damien,” Oz breathed, “I want to do everything with you.”

With a growl, Damien got on top of him, straddling him and tangling his hands into Oz’s hair, bringing him up for another kiss, biting his bottom lip, begging for entrance. It was brutal; it was maddening; it was loving. After a moment, Oz hooked one of his legs through Damien’s, rolling them over so he was straddling him instead, sitting up to catch his breath, moaning, wanton, at the image of Damien, beneath him, looking up in such awe, with such desire.

With this much tension between them, this much lost time to make up for, there was only so long this prelude could go on for. There would be time for slow and quiet and subtle; this was not that time. Soon, they descended into a flurry of limbs and motion. Somehow his shirt was rucked out of his pants and thrown aside; at some point, his pants were thrown over his shoulder. Who’s to say how? Is it important?

_No,_ he thought, steadying himself, _what was important was that he was here and Damien was here and they were here together_.

“Stay with me, don’t get lost in that big brain of yours,” said Damien, half pleading, before pressing a kiss to the center of Oz’s chest. At this point, he was sitting, legs splayed, in just his yellow boxers, up against the headboard, with Damien in between his legs, also naked save his boxers (red).

Oz shuddered against Damien’s lips as he kissed his way down his chest, stopping just below his belly button to look up at him.

“You say the word, we stop immediately,” he reminded Oz gently.

“Damien,” said Oz, half-whining with want, “I-I appreciate but I already told you. I want this. I want _you._ ”

With that, Damien made quick work of his boxers, throwing them to the side, revealing his cock, achingly hard and dripping with precum already. Without so much as a second thought, Damien’s tongue was lapping at the tip, practically sending Oz over the edge. He threw his head back, moaning. 

“Try not to cum just yet for me, okay?” managed Damien with most of his cock already in his mouth. “Can you do that for me? I wanna get you nice and ready for me, okay?”

“Yes,” moaned Oz, “Yes! Gd, yes, I promise”

“Good boy,” said Damien with his mouth around his cock, and Oz almost had to go back on his promise, but he maintained his composure.

After what seemed like an eternity of the underworld’s sweetest torture, Damien pulled back off his cock with an obscene little _pop_ sound.

“L-let me do you,” said Oz, panting, but Damien shook his head.

“No, Gd look at you, no, not tonight, want this to be about you, want to make all that-all that fighting junk up to you. Besides,” he said, gesturing to the sizable tent in his own red boxers, ”I’m already plenty prepared. But I-I need to know if you’ve done this before.”

Oz shook his head, suddenly a little shy. “No. B-but I’ve done-stuff. By myself.”

Damien nodded sagely, darkly. “You’ve fingered yourself?”

“Y-yes,” said Oz, forgetting to be shy, too distracted by the dangerous glint in Damien’s eye.

“Did you think of me?” he asked, voice a low grumble that was sexier than anything he’d ever heard.

“Yes! Gd, yes I did, I thought of you every time,” he half-whined, panting, spreading his legs.

“Good boy,” repeated Damien, “Can you do that for me now? Can you get yourself ready for me? Be my good boy?”

Oz really whined now, responding not with words but with a high-pitched noise so wanton, so full of need and desire he would have thought it impossible. Obediently, he braced his legs up at the knee and spread himself.

“Look at you,” breathed Damien, “You are Gd-damned perfect, do you know that?”

“Not d-damned by Gd,” Oz managed as he started opening himself up, first one finger, then two, “Damned b-by you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Damien moaned, shucking his own boxers, revealing his own cock, red and throbbing as promised, and big (just a little bigger than Oz had imagined, just a touch girthier).

Oz scissored his fingers, adding a third, easing himself open. Damien sat watching, intent, rapt, breathing heavy and ragged.

“I’m ready,” said Oz finally, after another quiet minute, “I’m ready for you.”

“You’re sure?” asked Damien, one last time, “I need you to be sure. Once we do this...I’m not gonna want to share you.”

“I’m sure, Damien,” rasped Oz, “It’s you. It’s always been you, it’ll be you for the rest of my life.”

With that, Damien was pulling a bottle of lube out of thin air, slicking his palm and then his cock, lining himself up, and pressing himself in. 

It’s bliss (it hurt a little, it felt a little strange, but that doesn’t stop it from being bliss).

Oz felt himself stretch, straining a little in the best possible way.

For a moment, Damien was just slowly sinking inside of him, pushing in, inch by inch, and Oz was dizzy, and also happier than he’d ever been.

Finally, Damien was fully inside of him, and he opened his eyes, looking up at the man who gave his every moment meaning. His amber eyes were flashing, brimming with light and passion and his breath was shaky.

“Y-you can move,” said Oz, voice hushed.

“Yeah?” asked Damien, giving him another final moment to back out.

“Yeah,” breathed Oz, “Please. You have no idea how badly I want this.”

The first few strokes were tentative, slow; Oz felt himself acclimating to the stretch, feeling the dizzying pleasure of having _Damien’s cock_ inside of him (holy fuck how did this happen, how did he get this lucky). 

“You feel so _good,_ ” he said, and he saw something in Damien shift, whatever little piece of restraint was still holding him back breaking. Damien snapped his hips forward so he was fully seated inside him, right to the base. Frantically, he started pumping at a merciless pace, in and out, each time hitting the spot deep inside him that made Oz’s toes curl.

“You,” he managed, “ _You_ feel so good, Gd you’re so tight, so tight, so good for me, _so_ good for me, my good boy,”

Oz moaned, balling the sheets in his hands, feeling an intense heat coiling in his stomach. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, but if Damien’s erratic breath was anything to go by, neither was he.

“Want you to cum in me,” he panted, “Please, please cum in me Damien,”

“Oz,” Damien moaned, and with that, they both hurtled over the edge.

It took several minutes for them to come down, for Oz to see straight, for Damien to stop shaking. Rolling off of him and pulling out, Damien lay next to him, propping his head up with his arm.

“Oh my Gd,” breathed Oz.

“You called?” said Damien, and Oz laughed, turning to face him and snuggling against his chest.

“You wanna smoke?” Damien asked, pulling a cigarette from behind his ear.

“With you?” said Oz, “Always.”

* _666_ *

The next morning, Damien was already awake when he woke, sitting with his head propped up the same way, looking down at him with something like love in his eyes.

“Hey,” he said sleepily.

“Hey,” Damien replied, “go to hell.”

“What?” Oz asked, scrunching his eyes up in the morning light.

“I mean, literally. Literally go to hell. I mean, because my house is in hell, and I’m inviting you over. To-to meet my dads, and stuff. I mean, if you want.”

“I told you, Damien,” replied Oz, “I want to do everything with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading!!!! comments and kudos are much appreciated, they mean the world to me!


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